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Beowulf felt his reservations slowly begin to ebb and disappear. Already the image he remembered of Sanibel was simply her disappearing to the ocean waves. Already her scent was beginning to be replaced by the comforting aroma of Celestria. She was his mother. He twitches his small ears as she speaks, his dark eyes alighting at the idea of having a sister and a grandfather. So far the only male that had been around him had been father. "What are they like?" he asks as a contented sigh escapes his lungs. With a belly full of warm milk, he began to feel sleep creep over him. He leans comfortably against Celestria's pale foreleg, not yet ready to forgo her touch. He had just lost one mother after all, he was not willing to separate himself from another.